Paige Turner

My niece, Paige, gave me a book for Christmas. She is a senior in high school and it was a book she had read in her English class. She loved it and because she loved it, I was very, very happy to receive the gift from her.
The problem was that it was a book by Jodi Picoult. Now, I don’t mean to be a book snob, certainly I have read some lousy books in my lifetime, and if we’re being honest, I’ve even bought a book or two at Target. But if you ever wander through the library in that store, you’ll find that Jodi Picoult has an entire aisle to herself! It’s true! It’s right across from the Harlequin Romances, which is why I have resisted any urges I may have had to read one of her books. But I wanted to read this one since it was a gift from my niece. And since I read mostly on the Metro, I covered the book with a cheesy, ill-fitting red book cover which gave the illusion that I was actually reading the Bible instead of a Jodi Picoult paperback. Not that I haven’t been called a Jesus Freak in the past, but with all the chortling and weeping I was doing, I was just a highlighter away from appearing a real fanatic!
Truth be told, however, My Sister’s Keeper is a pretty good book. For the most part. It’s one of those the-Chicken-or-the-Egg stories that really makes you think. It is the story of a child who was “created” by her parents for the purpose of saving her dying sister’s life and raises a lot of controversial issues along the way. It asks the deeper questions of life like how long you should keep fighting for something before you simply say, “Enough is enough”, and I was more than happy to battle away with myself to find the answers.
I am reminded of a scene in City of Angels where the doctor, played by Meg Ryan, sits on the stairway after losing a patient and wonders, when she is fighting for someone’s life ... WHO is she fighting?


Sometimes I feel like an author is tap-tapping away on her laptop developing some great characters and amazing story lines when all of a sudden she looks at the clock on the wall and says, “Crap! I gotta wrap this thing up!” While I did get a bit of that toward the end of this book, I was so busy balancing my little moral scale I didn’t even see Jodi coming at me with a baseball bat!
Ummmm ... ouch!
But the first of the two cheap shots she took was almost bearable. I quickly got back to my moral balancing act and was (although it sucked and it hurt and it made me cry) able to get through it. But the second shot, the unforgivable shot, came in the cute little wrap-it-up section of a book they like to call the Epilogue.
I wish I hadn’t read the epilogue. Sometimes I get so involved with the characters of a book, I simply can’t let them go. Hell, I’m still getting daily visits from Frank and Mamah and that was like 6 books ago. I don’t know how an author can create and mold a beautiful character and then give her a colossal slap across the face when she’s finished with her. I don’t get that. But, that is the very reason I will never read another Jodi Picoult book.

Slumdog Millionaire

Two friends suggested, separately, that I see Slumdog Millionaire. They both said it was amazing, but they both also said the first 20-30 minutes were extremely difficult to watch. “Just close your eyes through that part.”
Beyond that, I knew absolutely nothing about this film. Nothing. Not even the premise.
I watched the film with my vision blocked only by my own tears. I was instantly thrown back to Mumbai, India, a hellish vacation I first took in July ‘07 when I read “A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry. It was, in fact, extremely difficult to watch, but oh so necessary. Slumdog Millionaire was brilliantly filmed and beautifully told. I immediately felt deep admiration and compassion for it’s young characters. Feeling their unbearable angst, as well as their childish boldness and conviction. I laughed and sobbed and openly cheered!
Slumdog Millionaire is a fairy tale in the rawest sense that drags itself through modern day sludge only to stand like a freshly polished Rupee coin in the end.
Watch it. Feel it.
Absorb the grit, the horror, the brutality. Because you will only fully appreciate the passion, hope, and sheer determination if you do so.
Go to the film and watch it with your eyes wide open!

Do You Believe in Miracles?

I've had some paid time off this January. It's been great! The only problem is that our house is cold!
Really cold.
I can see white puffs of breath escaping my dogs as they snore away in their little dog piles. My house looks like a canine Jonestown with sleeping dogs everywhere I turn. I don't like moving, either, frankly.
Too cold.
So, I snuggle up on the love seat with several blankets, coffee or cocoa (which I must drink quickly before a layer of ice forms on top), my laptop .... and the kiss of death ... the television!
I get sucked in.
Oh yes, Jessica Simpson is beautiful.
Oh my, poor Alyssa Milano, I can feel your pain, sweetie. I, too, must spend hours in Makeup before I go to work. Oh, Jennifer Love Hewitt, I am just like you!
My skin IS bad!
How did I not notice this before?
I promptly ordered Proactiv. I wanna live my life! I want peace of mind! This could change everything for me!
I think I look exactly like Vanessa Williams, I just haven't noticed because of all this acne.

So, I got the stuff.
And used it.
And it hurt like H.E.Double Hockey Sticks! My skin was raw! It put tears in my eyes! I looked down at my towel and it had stripped the color right off the cloth! You know the "before" pictures they show you on the commercials? I think they were actually taken AFTER they applied the three steps of medication and BEFORE they covered it all up with professional makeup!
I did not have bad skin.
Not really....
I do now!
Now I have to wear so many layers of foundation, I look like I just hired Mickey Rourke as my stylist.

I really hate being so gullible.

A Winter Walk in My Neighborhood

Sometimes
in the dead of winter
when you feel frozen
and
tired
and
not much like yourself....





A day will come
when the sun shines
a little brighter
and
the wind stills itself
and
just for an hour or so
you feel
alive....

Welcome, President Obama!

I am absolutely thrilled to have been a very tiny part of history yesterday for the inauguration of our 44th President of the United States.
We were a small pack of five traveling slowly through the city in search of the perfect vantage point in which to catch a glimpse of our new Commander in Chief.
I wanted to watch the people, I wanted to watch the colorful surroundings as we crept along, I wanted to watch the events unfolding, but in reality, I mostly just watched my step.
We happened upon a small opening in front of a Jumbotron just in time to watch the inauguration begin. For a few brief moments on a bitter January day, I was not cold. I was not tired, or uncomfortable. The sun split through the cloudy winter sky and, together with the reality of the occasion, warmed my reddened cheeks. Along with two million of my closest friends, I listened with respect and admiration as President Obama spoke his amazing words of encouragement and hope for a new America! As the first African American president, Obama brilliantly quoted our nation’s first ever president, George Washington.
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."
The crowd cheered! We laughed and hugged and dried our watery eyes! It was an awe-inspiring flash in time. A piece of our history I will never forget. A tick in time about which I will always remember exactly where I was and exactly how I felt.

Why We Suck by Dr. Denis Leary

On page 1, Dr. Leary promised me I would soon become livid while reading his book.
Because I am a woman.
I didn’t.
I loved it!
I laughed through the whole thing. Because I am a woman with a sense of humor. Why We Suck is a hardcover rant by Denis Leary giving his satirical opinions as to why the rest of the world hates us as Americans. It’s meant to be funny. It’s a parody ... poking fun! It’s really, really sarcastic and entertaining!
Denis Leary seems like a fun guy to be around, frankly! He loves his friends and family and is more than willing to laugh at himself (and them). I wish he and I were friends!
If this book antagonizes you, lighten up! We can spend every day for the rest of our lives being offended by one thing or another, or we can just separate ourselves from the offensive parties and laugh a little. A lot!
You could put this book on the back of the toilet with Don Rickles’ book, but your bathroom would be tied up for a long, long time!
That could be a little offensive, I suppose!

Rickles' Letters by Don Rickles

Rickles' book belongs in the toilet. Not that it’s complete crap, per se, it’s just not that funny. Was he ever funny or edgy? Anyone who could answer that is probably in a better place by now. He’s just mean and he gets away with lame jokes like, “Take off your mask, Halloween’s over.” And no one, I repeat no one, should read Rickles’ Letters cover-to-cover in one sitting as I did on the Metro today. It should be kept on the back of the stool for a No New Magazines Emergency - and that is it!

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

In 1958, long, long before I was born, the extremely beautiful Elizabeth Taylor and painfully handsome Paul Newman joined the man who would later tell me the story of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and sing me songs like The Lollipop Tree, to make a little movie called Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
And 51 years later, curled up in pajamas on a Sunday afternoon with my husband and my dogs, I laughed and cried and pondered the meaning of mendacity and Southern society. Together we explored questions of faithfulness, illness, homosexuality and greed. We admired Ms. Taylor’s glorious gams and Mr. Newman’s beautiful blue eyes. We lost ourselves in Southern hospitality.
I love old movies!
The brilliant playwright, Tennessee Williams, had the good sense to let us fill in our own blanks and the Hollywood Production Code kept it nice and clean for us. I have an overactive imagination, and I appreciate books, plays and films that appreciate that about me!
This film, without a shadow of a doubt, triumphantly stands the test of time!

White Widow by Jim Lehrer

Embarrassingly, I did not know Jim Lehrer was an author when I received White Widow as a Christmas gift. I thought he was a political news figure. So, halfway through the book, I was baffled. Was Jim Lehrer a genius or a simpleton? The writing style would suggest the latter, but perhaps he was just using a mind-numbingly boring style to capture his main character’s personality. It was very well written and Mr. Lehrer obviously knows of what he speaks, but the whole thing was meticulously unexciting.
The story follows Jack T. Oliver who is a commonplace, self-important bus driver with absolutely no higher aspirations. He is repetitious, simple. A dullard. Even his fantasies, which ultimately destroy no less than four lives, are, well, lifeless.
Aside from the little issue of accountability, however, I actually did enjoy the book! I realize that in reading my review of it, you could never tell that I honestly couldn’t put the damn thing down and found myself telling the story to all of my friends over beers at the local pool hall. Perhaps Mr. Lehrer is actually the former in my original question!
Good to know!

Resolutions

I was driving to work the other day, a new day in this new year, with a ziplock baggy of left over turkey in my lap. As I am munching away, I saw one of my nice nearby residents going for a jog in our neighborhood. She turned as I approached and smiled at me with sweat on her brow and deep releases of breath turning white in the crisp air. I smiled back and waved at her.
With a piece of turkey in my hand.
Oh my God, I thought to myself, I am totally waving meat at my super-fit neighbor from the cozy comfort of my convertible!
I decided then and there that I, along with my country, need CHANGE! I need to get out more! I need to exercise more! I want to be the super-fit neighbor people wave their meat at ...
wait ...
you know what I mean!
So, my New Year's Resolutions for 2009 include getting fit, enjoying the out-of-doors every single day regardless of weather and schedules, taking more pictures (as proof?) and writing more.
And you, my friends, should reap the rewards of my resolutions!

Alas, It Is Christmas

Alas...
it is Christmas
A time of good cheer
of knowing the reason the season is here

We warm up our homes for those who have traveled
with memories and stories and laughter unraveled
We wish and we hope for all the grand things
and tie them with ribbons and papers and strings

But all that we pray for is peace on this earth
and a love for each other and all that that’s worth
A time to reflect on the seasons of past
We smile for our loved ones and raise up a glass:

To all that is magic
and all that is tragic
and all that we want life to be
To all that we stay for
and all that we pray for
belief in the things we can’t see

So we hold each other as we sit by the fire
and lift up our hearts to something much higher
And believe...
... just believe
for Alas, it is Christmas...

Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris

If I say I liked this book, you might think I am sick and twisted. And if I say I didn't like it, then you might think I am an old prude. The fact of the matter is, I enjoyed the author's essays about his family as I always have. The first piece about working as an elf at Macy's is hilarious, although I must say, listening to him read it is much funnier than reading it yourself! The pieces that were NOT about his own family were just plain weird ... almost to the point of being sad. I miss the days when David Sedaris made me laugh out loud on the train. Frankly, I could have used a good belly laugh before Christmas, although I don't know about that whole bowl-full-of-jelly thing!

Something More Than Oranges, Peanuts and Underpants!

When I was a kid, the fine line between God and Santa became very, very blurry shortly after Thanksgiving! The evening prayers turned to wishes, changing from, “Dear God, please let my sister not make fun of me tomorrow, and don’t let them find the library book hidden between my mattresses” to “Dear Santa, I have been very, very good this year.”
Which was only a tiny lie, really. I wasn’t actually a bad kid, although I certainly thought I was. Like my whole world was just one giant fork in the road with me repeatedly making the wrong choice!
So, while the turkey and potatoes were still digesting, I began my month-long campaign with Santa Claus.
“Dear Santa, I have been a very good girl this year....”. While it was mostly true, I sometimes fell asleep trying to come up with supporting evidence. So, I would begin again the next night and the next, “Dear Santa, as I mentioned last night, I have been a very good girl this year and I really only want one little thing for Christmas: a puppy!”
I still want a puppy for Christmas. Although I have three dogs, I think nothing could be more special and exciting than a little ball of fluff with a red satin ribbon tied around it’s neck gnawing on all the other presents under the tree!
“Dear Santa, I have been a very good girl this year and I really only want one little thing for Christmas: a puppy! .... oh, but I do like those little red wagons with the fence around them..... yeah, just a puppy and a Fency Wagon. That’s all.”
This conversation with Santa went on for many nights as the weather turned colder and colder, and the list got longer and longer.
“Dear Santa, I have been a very good girl this year and I really only want one thing for Christmas: a puppy! ... and a Fency Wagon ... and perhaps a tea set, because I really do love to entertain..... and that is all!”
As time went on and I received a few scoldings, a Spanken or two (I used to think a spanking was a proper noun, Spanken. You would receive a Spanken as a gift from your mother when she misunderstood your good intentions or you, yet again, chose the wrong fork in the road!), and perhaps the threat of coal in my stocking, my wishes became more desperate,
“Dear God, will you please tell Santa that I am actually a very good girl and I really only want one little thing for Christmas: a puppy! ... and a Fency Wagon, a tea set ... and maybe for Captain Kirk to be my dad, and that’s all!”
Now, four weeks of goodness is a challenge for anyone, as you know, so things could sometimes get a little rough around the 20th of December! That’s when I had to call in the big guns!
“Dear Cher,
will you please ask God
to tell Santa that
I really am a good girl
and I only want one
little thing for
Christmas.........”

An Irish Country Christmas by Patrick Taylor

An Irish Country Christmas. Sounds like 500 pages of L.A.M.E., doesn’t it? But it was actually quite delightful! The story follows two country doctors (one seasoned and crusty, one young and fresh) in rural Ireland during the weeks preceding Christmas of 1964. The tale is sweet and funny and informative. The characters were brilliantly drawn and ever so endearing. Together we enjoyed walks along the sea, rugby matches won by the comical, heroic Labrador, Arthur Guinness, a botched nativity play (which made me laugh out loud in public!), a rigged lottery, many, many meals and trips to the local pub! I couldn’t help but think this would make a classic PG13 Christmas movie, and with the right actors, could be downright hilarious!
I dog-ear pages in my books as I read to remind myself of things I found interesting, funny, or memorable. Things I may want to look up later. My hardcover of An Irish Country Christmas has swollen to twice it’s size with all my page-bending! The Irish slang is quite delicious and the book is full of medical information, recipes and charming dialog! I am happy to have spent my days leading to Christmas with these heartwarming characters. I am really going to miss them!

Up On the Housetop by B. R. Hanby

I think I was approximately thirty six years old when it finally occurred to me that the words to the song were actually
"Up on the housetop reindeer pause (as in, rest for a moment while)
out jumps good ol' Santa Claus
down through the chimney with lot's of toys
all for the little ones Christmas joys...."
Ohhhhhh, they actually pause! Up until then, I thought it was
"Up on the housetop: Reindeer Paws!"
I actually thought I heard reindeer paws on the rooftop. It was probably just squirrels or my over-active imagination, but I liked it that way! Although, frankly, the way it was written really is much better.
Reindeer have hooves.
Who knew?

The Choir

This, I believe, was from 1999....

I left the house this morning not especially filled with the Christmas spirit, and headed toward the mall for something I couldn't remember when I got there. I plodded through the crowd in embarrassingly dazed circles, but not really caring much. I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window and while noting it was a particularly bad hair day, I heard an old woman's voice say, "There you are!" Her excitement started me, but I recognized her instantly.
Several years ago, while working at the mall on an unusually slow morning for December, I stepped out of my store and stood where the old woman had a kiosk set up to sell gold chains. She asked what I was doing and I said, "Just enjoying the Christmas music." She mentioned that she especially loved The Mormon Tabernacle Choir at Christmastime, and we chatted briefly until we both decided we should get back to work! Later that day, while shopping, I saw a bin of 99 cent cassettes in the drug store. I thought of the woman and searched the bin for a tape of The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, which I found rather quickly. The next day I handed her the tape on my way to work and her sad, old eyes filled with tears. "You don't know what this means to me!" she said, and I didn't.
She then told me of her son who had been killed many years before, shortly before Christmas. The only time she could have a funeral for her one son was on Christmas Eve. In spite of her unbearable grief, she was able to take some comfort in listening to the choir. She told me she always thought of her son when she heard The Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing Christmas music.
"I still have my tape!" she exclaimed presently. "And now when I listen, I think of you too!" This time is was my tired, old eyes that filled with tears, and I left the mall a smiling, sobbing mess .... and still didn't care! My 99 cent gift to her six years ago was repaid to me more generously than I could ever have imagined! I will certainly never forget her, even if I don't hear the choir! Hopefully I will never know her sadness, but I will forever be thankful for her joy!

A Season of Change

When we first moved to the Washington DC area, we lived in Alexandria VA. This was the letter I sent in my Christmas cards that year.

I was overcome with emotion recently for a little girl whose picture I found in a box. A little girl with rosy cheeks and a curious smile. She was cute and funny in yellow flannel pajamas, holding a new doll freshly delivered by Santa himself!! She really had no idea about the world and all it's struggles ... not then. She was smiling for her little dolly and shy in front of the camera. Always embarrassed to be silly, although she couldn't help it. She literally had her whole life ahead of her.
We took a big step this year ... must have reached that time in our lives when we needed a change more than ever. We're at an awkward age, really. We're too old to think of yourselves as young and far too young to be considered old. We're not shy children in front of cameras anymore, certainly, but just when we think we've done it all, bold new adventures present themselves. And as we move bravely forward to carve new lives for ourselves, our heroes begin to pass without us even realizing we are becoming heroes ourselves. Time really does fly. And at that moment when we think, "well, I guess this is it..." It isn't. Life suddenly becomes exciting again.
Although we had the sad assignment of saying food-bye to Jerry's dad this year and then to our friends and family when we decided to move to Washington DC, and although we left a home and people we loved ... we are happy and peaceful in our new surroundings. It has been a year of big changes.... a lifetime full of big changes... but we are better for all of it. In saying good-bye to Jerry's father, we realized that family and loved ones live in our hearts, regardless where our hearts take us.
Now, that ruddy-cheeked little girl who smiled on Christmas mornings so long ago lives in Virginia near George Washington's home, where there were always worldly, albeit weary, travelers ... there always was and always will be plenty of room for visitors here. Plenty of space to spread out, act like a child again, be our guests!!!

Puppy Love

Our little Allie just turned eight! I realized that I wrote the following Christmas letter just as she was being born! Of course, it would be awhile before she found her way to our home, where a new puppy is always a welcome addition! Here's to eight more happy years, Allie Precious!
Christmas 2000
My little Schnauzer, Zeile (pronounced Zy-la, the name of my favorite pub in Germany) passed away in May. It was the day all the cartoons paid tribute to the late Charles M. Schulz. Although we have a new little girl now, named Wednesday, I still miss my dear friend every single day. I know not everyone is a dog lover and if you've never know how warm a cold nose can make you feel or how comforting is the touch of soft fur, I will not try to explain. But if you do know, then you also know how I've been feeling for the past several months.
I have a photo album filled with pictures of Christmas Past. It's really amazing how many pictures I have with our various beloved pets over the years. There's Molly with her pretty Christmas scarf, Smudge and Sabrina wondering what on earth to do with 3ft rawhide bones, some friends in front of the tree with their new chocolate Lab, my cousin's horses wearing Santa hats, Abbey wearing reindeer antlers, Jim the Brittany Spaniel pushing the sofa cushions under the Christmas tree, Jake opening his football, Borderline opening her soccer ball, Lucy helping to decorate cookies, and finally there is Zeile with his new pink pig!
I read a book today called The Joy of a Peanuts Christmas. Zeile always kind of reminded me of Snoopy with his human-like qualities. It is a wonderful little book, actually! I literally laughed and cried! My favorite is a piece with Woodstock and Snoopy sitting on top of the dog house. Snoopy says, "There's no use getting our hopes up ... we're the lowest of the low. Old Santa Claus couldn't care less about creatures like us! We don't count for anything! That old guy doesn't even know we exist ..." Suddenly tons of gifts and candy fall from the sky right on top of Snoopy and Woodstock. "I can't believe it!" Snoopy cries. "There's a card too? What does it say?" Snoopy reads the card, "Merry Christmas from the new improved Santa Claus!" I think that new improved Santa is the one I still believe in!!
Luckily, I have so many great pictures of Zeile and even more memories from the twelve years we spent together. I will always remember what a truly beautiful companion he was to me. In the words on Beetle Bailey: WE'LL MISS YOU, OLD FRIEND!
Take lot's of pictures this year! Whether your friends and family are furry or fleshy, you'll be glad you did!!

When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris

Sometimes I finish a book long before I am ready to say goodbye to its characters. When this happens, it’s difficult to start a new book. I’ll have Dracula infiltrating the home of Marley and Me or something equally nonsensical, and I just end up confused and irritated. That’s when I find myself reading People magazine or The Express, like a little commercial break between TV shows. Sometimes, even that doesn’t work, so I will read short stories or, preferably, anything by David Sedaris.
When You Are Engulfed in Flames contains some great essays by the always-funny Sedaris, and I enjoyed it as I invariably enjoy his work. His sarcasm and quirky outlook almost repeatedly ensure an easy, enjoyable read for me. This wasn’t, however, my favorite of the books I’ve read by David-san. While I certainly did chuckle throughout, it wasn’t the gut-wrenching, public guffaws I experienced when I read my first David Sedaris book, Naked! That book was outrageously hilarious and forced me to become a lifelong fan of the author! I have unquestionably enjoyed each and every piece I have read or heard of his work, but Naked will always hold a special place in my heart and the distinct honor of being my “favorite”.

Speaking of Naked

My old buddy from waaaay back in my Air Force days is African American. I mention this only because it is 100% relevant to the story. Rick and I share the same off-the-wall sense of humor that leads people to think we are constantly sharing some private joke. They’re not actually private jokes, we very often just “get it” before the words are spoken. That’s our relationship.
When I first got out of the military, I went to stay with my sister and her daughter in Iowa. Leigh was always a chatty, quirky little girl with a ton of energy. It was around the time of Rick’s first visit to Iowa when Leigh became obsessed with the word naked. She said “naken”, and the word found its way into each and every conversation one would have with the gregarious child. “Do you eat naken? Do you wash dishes naken? Do you kiss naken?” Naken, naken, naken! It was such a strange fixation!
When Rick was about to arrive, I gave Leigh a little briefing on how to act like a lady when we have house guests, and she promised to be on her absolute best behavior during his visit.
She and Rick hit it off instantly and she quickly found her comfort zone. We decided to go for a drive one day and as she was becoming more and more squirrely in the car, I unquestionably knew what was coming next, and so did she! I gave her that sideways look and simply said, “Leighhhhhhhhh......”
She looked at me with her big brown eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Becca, I won’t say The N Word!”
Fearing Rick would think all of Iowa a pack of wild racists, I literally shrieked, “NAKEN!!! NAKEN IS THE N WORD!!!!!”


oh the horror.........

Holiday on Ice

This was the letter I sent in my Christmas cards last year.

I was talking with a couple of my sisters-in-law this week about what geeks we are at Christmastime! I used to like to sleep on the floor by the Christmas tree, or on the floor upstairs where the lights would shine up through the grate. The tree held such magic of goodness and generosity! Nothing bad could ever happen with a Christmas tree shining in the room!
It wasn't just a youthful thing, either! I must confess, I still like to sleep in the living room near the tree, with heavy eyes blurring the lights and lulling me into sweet dreams. I can stare for hours like a crazy person at the tree and decorations, a stream of drool glistening in the twinkling lights. Yes, I am still a card carrying member of the NFC (Nerds For Christmas)! In fact, one of my favorite Christmas gifts of all time wasn't one I received as a child. It was given to me my last Christmas at home when I was 17. From Santa, I think, because I still believed in him that year. It was a beautiful pair of ice skates. The good kind! With low ankles so I was free to do awesome tricks on the ice!
We opened our gifts on Christmas morning and then went to a cousin's house for Christmas dinner and after that the kids would go to the ice skating rink at the local free zoo! I LOVED this tradition! Some of my friends would also be there and we would laugh about our families and traditions and compare our loot! We would do our little routines on the ice, including crossovers, spins, spirals, double toe loops and triple sow cows.....
Okay, so none of us could actually do a triple Salchow, or any other class of Salchow, but on a crisp Christmas night (even after a heavy meal), I swear I could get a good two ... three ... quarters of an inch off the ice! If I had a lovely skating costume instead of cords and long johns, I could probably get even higher!!!
We did like to do this bit three people could do together. I would squat down, ever so gracefully, with my hands on the tops of the skates of the person behind me. That person would lean over me with her hands on my knees, and the third person would push us along like a human dog sled!!
Fabulous!!
We were booking along one night, absolutely flying, I tell you! Corners were challenging, I kid you not, but we were doing it! Past the warming house, past the parking lot, past the llamas and weird birds that don't migrate ... I mean, we were like the luge, man!
It was incredible! Whoooooooooo hooooooooooo!
Wait!
What the ... ? What is THAT??
Nooooooooooooooooooo!
HOT TAMALE!?!?!?!
Are you kidding me? Who eats Hot Tamales on the ice? Everyone knows a Hot Tamale is the kiss of death to an ice skater, even a skater of my caliber! They melt a bit into the ice and stick there like a big ol' clown shoe jutting out to trip you as you run down the hall! And the only warning sign you get is that little bit of Red Dye #3 that spreads out like blood from the head wound I was about to receive!!

From time to time, I still like to strap on the old ice skates and head down to the Sculpture Garden for a spin. We also used to skate on the lake and that god-awful, haunting noise we'd hear as the ice shifted would scare the ever-lovin' bejesus out of us, for sure, but the Sculpture Garden is nice, smooth ... relatively quiet, at least the ice itself. I'll lace up my skates, take a couple of pulls off the flask of brandy, er, I mean cheer, the Christmas cheer, and make a few laps. Maybe do a Hamill Camel and a lutz or two ... nothing fancy. The next day, I'll haul my sorry self into work the way I used to walk after riding 8 hours on horseback through the Colorado Rockies. I must still be good if I can achieve that same gate after only mere minutes on the ice! I'll get the ol' wink-wink-nudge-nudge from the fellas at work and I'll just give them the same conspiratorial nod I give the other NFCs at the Christmas Asylum!
‘Tis the season, after all!!

Happy Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving! I love the food, the good cheer, the fact that we’ve almost always had a stray or two at the table, and the fact that it’s the official kick-off party for the holiday season!
When I was in junior high school, my Gramps went downtown for one of his many errands. While out and about, he met a woman named Betty. Gramps and Betty began chatting and decided they were long-lost cousins. Cousin Betty was probably close to a hundred years old, so that Thanksgiving was the first of only a few holidays we were able to share with her.
And my oh my, Cousin Betty was a character, as was Gramps! Picture Aunt Bethany from Christmas Vacation, and you will know exactly what we had to deal with!
Cousin Betty’s eyesight was not exactly 20/20 at this point, so when she tried to put on her makeup for her Thanksgiving debut, it was nothing short of whimsical! She was only “off” about an inch when filling in her eye brows, so the effect was absolutely brilliant on such an animated face! Cousin Betty was very expressive in her speech and to see all four eye brows bobbing up and down with each colorful story was truly entertaining and delightful! Her rouge was panoramic, to say the least, and the extended lips were sheer genius! Betty certainly knew how to keep her audience’s attention!
Not to be outdone, however, Gramps took a bit of his beets on the end of his fork and smeared on his own bright crimson rouge! Grandma Harvey was, of course, horrified, but the rest of us gave a great deal of thanks that first Turkey Day with Cousin Betty!

The Sandman

I was with you as you fell asleep.
I watched as you stirred a bit
and when your breath became deep
and your eyes began to twitch,
I took you to the old cliff house by
the gentle, rolling sea.
There were wildflowers dancing in a soft
breeze and the sun was shining.
I did that for you
because I love you.
But the sky grew dark and the wind
picked up...
the sea was angry.
Shadows formed in the sky and a darkness
came to envelop you...
hurry
into the house
you must hide
it’s coming
what is it?
hurry
hide
the house is dark and older than you
remember
the thick darkness follows you
closer closer
hurry
hide
too many doors
too many hallways
hidden staircases and strange closets
hurry hide
it’s coming
what is it?
man? beast?
hurry
hide
too many hallways
too many doors
the wind breaks through the windows
is it raining inside?!
the sea is angry below
it’s coming
hurry
hide
what is it
hurry
hurry
you must hide
too many hallways
what is it
the velvet darkness folds around you
it’s coming
hurry
hide
hurry
hide
hurry
hurry

WAKE UP!

Loving Frank by Nancy Horan

Many years ago, I worked as a manager of a movie theatre. There was a movie critic in our town named Bruce Miller who was a fun, funny guy and I enjoyed visiting with him whenever he came in to review a new film. Once, he came in to watch a comedy that was opening and I decided to join him. We sat together and laughed and laughed! To the point where we were slapping each other on the arms and spitting popcorn into the air! It was great fun and I was so excited for the newspaper to come out so I could read his review!
But he slaughtered it! He wrote the most scathing review I had ever read and it left me baffled.
It was a comedy.
A mindless, ridiculous comedy.
It did not ever tout itself as the next Academy Award Winner! It did not advertise to draw the viewer who would be interested in seeing the next Academy Award Winner. It was just supposed to be fun. And it was! I had the sore stomach from belly laughs and bruised arms from our smacking each other to prove it.
I vowed then and there to take things for what they are. His review should have said, “If you just feel like laughing your a-double-s off for an hour and a half, this is your flick!”

So, I am here to tell you, I absolutely loved Loving Frank by Nancy Horan. It is what it is: a love story. It did not try to be anything else. Just Loving Frank. This novel is historical fiction, based on research on Frank Lloyd Wright and Mamah Borthwick, the wife of a client.
It is not about sex or even about some sleazy romance. It is about loving someone and how that love changes your life.
The book is extremely well-written, and while it is a fictional piece, it is based on truth and reads like a biography. I have always admired Frank Lloyd Wright’s work and have been to a couple of his homes. Additionally, the story follows Mamah (May-muh) and Frank as they left their spouses and journeyed throughout Europe, Wisconsin, Iowa, Colorado, Illinois ... all places I have either traveled or lived. It was so incredibly easy for me to visualize each and every backdrop.
I felt sorry for Mamah and the scandal that loving Frank brought into her life. She was an activist for women and for the rights of women not only to vote and earn equal wages, but to follow their dreams, their own personalities ... their loves.
Sadly the press absolutely hounded them for Frank Lloyd Wright was already somewhat of a celebrity at the time of their more than ten year affair. Mamah was truly the love of his life and she noticeably influenced his work during that time and probably long after.
The story is not so much scandalous as tragic. However, I was able to see the happiness and adoration these two souls had for each other.
The author beautifully weaves real newspaper clippings and letters with facts and historical truths and imagined dialogs and events.
I will say, as much as I thought I knew about Frank Lloyd Wright, there was a lot I absolutely did not know, including the relationship with Mamah Borthwick and it’s extremely tragic ending. It left me wanting to do more research and more traveling. I truly appreciate anything that makes me hungry for more knowledge.
But first and foremost, it is what it is.
It is a love story ... and I loved it.

Happy Birthday to Me!

I don’t really crave sweets. I can usually say no to dessert and pass by a bowl of candy without a second glance.
..... ...... Until I decide I need to drop a pound or two! Then I can think of nothing else! Suddenly I am shoving cheesecake into my mouth without even cutting it into slices. I am buying cookies and chocolate bars like they contain a golden ticket. What’s the deal?
You always want what you can’t have.
It’s rather like that when you lose a loved one. I miss my sister-in-law and friend, Linda, more than I ever imagined I would. I find myself actually craving our silly conversations and the bits of “news” she would send me via e-mail. Because I can’t have her, I long for her even more.

Now, I have always loved Peanut M&M’s. They’re delicious! But they are a decadent treat I can normally turn down when offered or pass by at the checkout stand. I mean, it’s not like they are french fries, for crying out loud!
But Linda loved Peanut M&M’s. After her funeral, all of her loved ones gathered together at her house (where we have always gathered) and at some point deeper into the night we shared an “M&M” toast to Linda!
It’s one of my favorite memories.

I returned home after the funeral and attempted to get my life back together. I find myself thinking about Linda all the time, and eating more chocolate than I would ever think a human could safely consume. Halloween came and went (adding another pound or two to my collection), and then my birthday (another, and another). I have been feeling depressed and disgusting.
Last night (just four days after my birthday), I went to see a tear-jerker movie all by myself. I cried through a stack of napkins and sobbed to the point of receiving “that” look from the patron in front of me. I was a slobbering, snotty mess!
When I got home, there was a box on my doorstep. It was actually addressed to me! A birthday gift?! I was curious and thrilled! I tore open the box and looked for a nonexistent card. I pulled the newspaper stuffing away from three huge, colorful, glorious, five pound bags ...
of Peanut M&M’s!
No card, no return label, no name ....

.... Linda?

I honestly do not know who sent me that very special birthday gift, but I do know exactly who put them up to it!!

.... and it was greatly appreciated!!!!

The Secret Life of Bees (the motion picture)

I reviewed this book on May 20th, 2008. Please read that review, you’ll find under “Dog-Eared”. It’s one of my favorite reviews, because it’s one of my favorite books.




Brava!
This film was a brilliant translation of a very special book! Amazing books have to be altered considerably to fit into the time constraints of a motion picture. Sometimes, things that I find important and necessary to the story, get lost along the way. While I still love this book more than most books I’ve ever read, they did an amazing job of making this into a film. Some things were changed somewhat, and the ending was made slightly more palatable. I was actually glad for that because I was running out of napkins and the nice folks around me were getting irritated with my blubbering.
The actors portrayed their characters magnificently and the story flowed smoothly and emotionally.
I would, of course, recommend the book to everyone, but I would also recommend seeing the film! But, go when you don’t mind your companion seeing you bawl like a baby and when you are going directly home afterward. Unless, of course, you’re hard inside......

Mick & Bec

My old pal, Carol (aka Mick), gave me the most wonderful birthday gift this year! Long, long ago, she and I wrote an article or two for the school newspaper, and Carol sent me a folder full of clippings! We even wrote a little comedy piece together we called “Mick & Bec”, and since we were on the newspaper staff, we made it a regular feature. I loved writing for the paper and really loved going to the city paper to lay it out and watch it print. We had a lot of laughs on those late night journalism sessions and trips! But my favorite part of it all was writing Mick & Bec. We were goofy kids and fancied ourselves SNL players or commercial actors. I haven’t changed much in that respect ... always willing to do just about anything for a laugh!
I will resist the urge to do some editing 25 years after the fact and share some of our stuff with you now:

Purple and Gold
Watertown High School
Watertown SD 57201
November 4, 1983

Mic and Bec discuss:
Do ads really affect our lives?
By Becca Harvey and Carol McKee
WARNING: THIS COLUMN WILL SURELY BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH.
Do you ever wonder why the Mick & Bec column is so great? It’s because we eat right, exercise, and take Geritol every day.
One of these girls is Mick, and the other is Bec, can you tell by looking at their hands? Speaking of dish soap, as if everyone is going to flock over to your house just to look at themselves in your dishes.
Have you ever noticed how every romantic situation has to do with coffee lately? Imagine you’re watching the sun set on beautiful Lake Kampeska with Mr. Right (or Mr. Close-Enough), obviously caffeine-free coffee is the last thing on your mind right now!
Can you believe these toothpaste commercials? Whoooooo cares if your toothpaste is topless or not? Personally, we wouldn’t want the Crest team waging war against the Cavity Creeps inside our mouths. We’d gargle before bed and hear Taps.
Next time we go to the grocery store, Mr.Whipple will probably bomb us with Charmin. We’ll end up suffering flashcube blindness from Michael Landon being The Happy Photographer. We could be innocently rolling our shopping carts down the aisle and some character will scream, “Midasize it!” while some confident soul will probably go around flaunting his armpits if he’s Sure. The bagboy may not even help us because we accidentally scratched our scalps. But, when it’s all said and done, Cathy Rigby will tell us it’s all perfectly natural, even though we don’t normally go around chatting about it.



Watertown High School has some strange traditions, as do all high schools, I’m sure. One such tradition is the Tuckabatchie (TUCKS) Club. TUCKS is an organization for junior and senior girls. Its purpose is to recognize academic excellence and provide service for our school and community. To be a member of TUCKS, juniors must have a GPA of 3.25 and seniors a 3.0. I don’t honestly remember the specifics, but the club involves some bizarre initiation process with the senior girls hazing the junior girls (babies), forcing them to run all over town, dressed absurdly, not even knowing who their torturers were. All of this leads to a formal dance where each Tucks girl invites a boy of her choosing to be her escort.
Additionally, I will be honest, I had forgotten about James Watt and was horrified at the last sentence of this article. I had to get on Wikipedia to put my mind at ease and realize that Carol and I were actually very timely with our comments and pretty funny, too, if I do say so myself!

Purple and Gold
Watertown high School
Watertown SD 5721
September 30, 1983

Mick and Bec discuss:
Tuck trials - is the guy worth it all?
By Carol McKee and Becca Harvey
WARNING: THIS COLUMN MAY BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH.
Read a Mick and Bec column. They’re not like the columns you read at home, but we think they’re the best columns around. We use real humor in our columns. Some writers use imitation humor. You see, we’re determined to be the best commercial writers in the business. And when you try a Mick and Bec column, we think you’ll agree ... that perhaps we are ...
(Sidebar: That bit was actually my favorite commercial at the time for Old Home Bakery's fried pies.)
Can we talk here? As you all have noticed, Tucks arrived last week. You could tell by simply glancing down the halls at all the ridiculously dolled-up lockers. Evidently, high school girls like the immature look in lockers this season.
Along with having lipstick written all over their faces at the initiation picnic, baby sisters also had the opportunity to twist their hair into a million little pigtails. And, of course, they had the joy of drinking juice out of baby bottles and choking down slimy baby food.
Apparently, these girls enjoy going through agony, only to have the added trauma of asking Mr. Dream Man to the Tucks dance. That is where the most interesting of Tuck rites occurs.
First of all, the new Tuck member must make her plan-of-attack. Some girls use the direct approach. They go parading over to his locker, knocking down several innocent bystanders along the way. When she finally reaches her destination, she bombards him with questions about the dance.
For the more subtle type of chick, there is the beat-around-the-bush approach. This girl will try anything from spying at her man from behind corners, walls, posts, etc. to following him down the hall at a respectable distance. If she ever does summon the courage to ask Joe Wonderful to the dance, would this character even go with her after all that?
Next there is the phone call method. The advantage to this approach is not having to ask him face to face - which poses a number of problems.
For instance, what if a big wad of spit comes darting out of her mouth while she’s trying to ask him to the dance? Or what if her dry, parched lips somehow stick together? Or worse yet, what if she is experiencing technical difficulties with her nose, and there are no Kleenex available?
If she overcomes all of these hazards, it’s time for his big decision. He could:
A) Be delighted.
B) Say, “I don’t believe I know you.”
C) Godforbid, say “No”.
D) None of the above.
E) All of the above.
If the answer is anything but A), it’s fairly simple, she merely moves on to her alternate choice. If the second choice says says no, then she will ask a third guy and so on ... and so on ... and so on ...
If all else fails, and that woman is a black, a Jew, or a cripple, she could always ask James Watt.

Sisters of Mercy

“Whoseywhatsit says it’s so foggy cuz he can’t play no instruments.” One faceless chick in the restroom said to another. “We seen ‘im tin years ago and it was the same way, all that smoke!”

Ugh!

Once upon a time, before there was Pandora to fulfill our every musical whim ... before there was Limewire and iPods ... before we could download whatever we wanted ...
when we wanted to hear some kick ass, driving music: we went to clubs! We went to Discoteca Morasol in Madrid, we went to Gloria and Flash somewhere in Germany (I wasn’t driving, so I don’t know where we were!) We went to hole in the wall clubs in France.
The music we liked wasn’t on the radio. Not even on the college and alternative stations, which were fine for our daytime listening pleasures, but if we wanted to hear the really cool, industrial stuff, we could only hear it in the clubs.
If we liked something especially, we would tramp around on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon to seedy record stores where we had to watch where we stepped and hope the pot smell coming from the back rooms didn’t attach itself to our clothing. We would dig through stacks of vinyl hoping to find that rare recording of Anne Clark or Front 242.
And if we wanted to share our music, we made mix tapes!
The Sisters of Mercy quickly became a favorite that stayed with me over the years from the European clubs to Rock Island in Denver, Washington's on Thursday nights in Fort Collins, some strange place in Boulder ......
I bought their albums. I made tapes for my friends. My friends made tapes for me. And now, I listen to them on Pandora.
But first and last and always ... we went to the clubs to dance!
The Sisters of Mercy sounded gloomy and gothic while simultaneously being driving and sexy. It was always about dancing.
So, I loved seeing them from the balcony at 9:30 Club last night and I loved all the fog! I easily lost myself in the pulsing music being both compelling and nostalgic. The haze and strange lights from the stage creating shadows out of moving people backlit by the glow of the bar ... it was an absolute pleasure to slip back to my glory days for a couple of hours.
With the exception of the chick next to me channeling Molly Ringwald’s White Girl dance in the library and the idiots in the restroom, I felt like the twenty years I waited to see The Sisters of Mercy was well worth it!

My Nephew, Trevor

This is from the Sioux City Journal's online edition with today's date. Many thanks to Tim Gallagher for this touching tribute to my nephew, Trevor. His mother would have loved this!






Jay Soars with Memories of Mom
By Tim Gallagher

LE MARS, Iowa -- Following a touchdown reception two weeks ago, Trevor Bouma looked to the sky.
It wasn't showy. He didn't take a knee in the end zone.
He just glanced high above the stadium lights for a second to acknowledge his mother. Linda Bouma died at home the day before, ending a two-year fight against ALS.
Linda Bouma, 48, left behind husband Don, and four boys, Aaron, Chris, Payton and Trevor, a freshman running back for the Le Mars Gehlen Catholic, a team that continues its memorable season with a Class A state contest Monday night at Lake City.
The Jays of Coach Tony Gunter weren't supposed to be this good this fall. Of 11 starters on offense and defense, only one is a senior.
"Football has helped me," said Trevor Bouma, who reflected on the highs and lows of this autumn. "My mom loved going to our athletic events. She wanted me to play football."
It came as no surprise to Gunter his speedy freshman would suit up Oct. 17, a day after the death of his mother.
"Football is his game," said Gunter, who lost his father at age 19. "I told Trevor to take as much time as he needed. I know there have been times this fall when it's been very difficult for him. But he never lost his focus. He wanted so badly to compete. Football has been a very good diversion for Trevor."
So, too, have been his Jays teammates, who visited the Bouma home three hours before the Oct. 17 game. The boys in their green uniforms visited as their freshman teammate prepared for a district contest. Captain Jordan Sitzmann presented the 14-year-old ball carrier with an autographed ball.
"Jordan told us that night would be special," Bouma recalled.
It was. Bouma caught a touchdown pass in a victory over Woodbury Central.
The Jays washed those green uniforms and donned them the following Monday morning at a funeral Mass for Linda Bouma inside St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Le Mars. Children from Gehlen lined the street, some saluting, as a hearse carried her body to Calvary Cemetery.
"It's not easy to feel the alleluia verse," said the Rev. Kevin Richter, referencing a verse that means to celebrate, to give thanks.
Seeing his teammates and the children standing at attention along the street are scenes cemented in Trevor Bouma's mind. He is thankful for their support.
"Having the team at my mom's funeral like that was pretty special," he said. "And seeing the kids lined up outside the school was cool."
The freshman starter known for his gritty defensive play (his mother once asked him not to hit an opponent so hard) remembers two of his mother's final wishes. She asked her four boys to take care of one another. She also told her sons to stay active in athletics. Watching her boys compete served as this mother's alleluia verse.
And while this 14-year-old hoped his family would have Mom around for 10 years following her diagnosis, he's thankful for the two they did enjoy.
"This has taught me to not take anything for granted," Trevor Bouma said.
On Monday, just before kickoff, the Jay in jersey No. 1 will pull his helmet on. He'll stand quietly for a moment, reflecting on the absence of his biggest fan. Then he'll nod, recalling memories she provided and her wish that he continue to play.
And if he scores, Bouma's glance will be sky-high.

Peer with similar pain
As Trevor Bouma played through the pain of losing his mother Oct. 17, a fellow freshman on the other side of the field was going through something so, so familiar. That night, Bouma's Gehlen team played Woodbury Central, a team featuring freshman middle linebacker Josh Haberl. That night, Haberl's mother, Kris Haberl, was clinging to life in her fight against cancer. Haberl, 45, died the following day. Her funeral was held Oct. 21 at Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Moville.
Josh Haberl, a captain for the Wildcats' defense, played three days following his mother's funeral. His older brother, Nick, a musician in the Woodbury Central marching band, was introduced with their father, Scott Haberl, for parents' night before the game. Scott held a photo of Kris as he stood with other parents and their senior children.
A few minutes later, Josh Haberl broke through the line and blocked a punt by River Valley. He recovered it for a touchdown, the first points in a Woodbury Central victory. (Bouma also blocked a punt this season against River Valley.)
Like Bouma, Haberl scored. They may have been the two most emotional touchdowns all year in Siouxland.

Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's by John Elder Robison

October was a hectic month for me. And I needed a book. Something light and humorous. I saw a goofy kid scowling at me from the cover of a small paperback and I picked it up.
“Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger’s”.
Hmmmmmm....
I remembered that Augusten Burroughs had mentioned his brother having Asperger’s Disease in his book, "Running with Scissors". I think he called it Ass Burgers. So I bought the book thinking it could be kind of funny!
It wasn’t.
Turns out, John Elder Robison IS Augusten Burrough’s brother! Augusten wrote a charming Foreword and I was, for a moment, pleased with my choice.
Unfortunately, the book read, to me, more like a textbook. If I was to feel sorry for his childhood because he was “different”, I didn’t. Some of us without Asperger’s were treated just as badly and unfairly and were just as misunderstood without any clinical justifications. I think his difficulties had more to do with alcoholic, mentally ill parents than his disease. Or, that’s the way it sounded to me. If it had more to do with Asperger’s, he didn’t portray it very well. So he tried to "pet" a girl who didn't like it? I laughed at some little kid choking on a hot dog and he didn't like that, either. Asperger's? Nope, sometimes kids just don't understand social situations. His choking didn't make me laugh, the streams of milk coming out of his nose, did. I don't expect anyone to feel sorry for me for the misunderstanding, I was just a dumb kid!
While Mr. Robison had some interesting careers and adventures in his life, he wasn’t really able to relay them to me with much gusto. It all could have been condensed down to a page or two of really good humor ... if he had asked his brother for a little help in writing it! (I wish I hadn’t known anything about the author’s relationship with Augusten Burroughs. It was impossible not to compare them and the latter is an amazing writer! It also came across as a bit of name-dropping.)
Perhaps I should have done a little research on the disease prior to reading it. Perhaps if I had, I would have enjoyed the book more, been more impressed with his accomplishments.
But I didn’t.
My bad.